


Random Acts of Torso

by imaginarycircus



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M, Netherfield Arc, Unresolved Sexual Tension, all grapes should be seedless, incorrectly quoting Alexander Pope, making out in pool, ruined Russian novels, that hopefully gets resolved by the end of the fic, torsos, unsightly gif sets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarycircus/pseuds/imaginarycircus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy takes off his shirt and Lizzie has an accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shirtless in Suburbia

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that horrible video and [.gif set of DVG taking off his shirt like a smug bastard.](http://imaginarycircus.tumblr.com/post/60886740111/rosieramblings-leslielikesthings) I hate him so much. Annie looked this over for me and I love her.

Lizzie left the house on the second day of triple-digit heat only because she'd be fined if she didn't return several books to the library. She arrived back at Netherfield cranky and sweat soaked. The AC in her car had never worked, but fixing it was not in her budget. She took a cold shower and parked herself in front of the AC vent in her room. She reread The Hunger Games until her teeth chattered. Her blood sugar dipped so low that she saw spots and she wasn't sure she could walk to food. Pretending she was Katniss, she snuck downstairs.

Only the threat of starvation, or a raging fire could drive her out into _Enemy Territory._ The _Enemy_ could be lurking anywhere, ready to catalog all her imperfections. According to him she was nothing _but_ imperfections.

She made it to the kitchen sink and was washing grapes when Darcy strode in for coffee. He magically appeared whenever she set so much as a toe in the kitchen. Did he think she was going to steal the silverware?

He filled his porcelain cup (it look exactly like a white paper coffee cup) and said her name in that way of his: pompous and offended by her presence, possibly on earth.

"Darcy," she said with all the warmth of an ice floe. She popped a grape casually into her mouth. Everything would have been fine if the grapes had been seedless. She winced at the telltale crunch. He stood rigidly next to the counter. Never relaxing, or leaning a hip against one. He watched her fish the seed of her mouth. She almost snapped that it wasn't feeding time at the zoo and staring is rude, but the way he glared at her mouth made the words stick in her throat.

She fled upstairs with her seedy grapes and a box of crackers wondering if there was a proper way to spit out grape seeds. A special spoon? Tiny tongs? Maybe Darcy cut his grapes in half with a knife and fork and scooped out the seeds. He probably ate pizza with a knife and fork. Actually he probably never ate pizza. That could explain his general unhappiness with life.

__

The third blistering day of the heat-wave she whiled away in a cool bath. If you keep your fingers and toes above the water they don't prune. She'd smuggled snacks into her room the night before. It wasn’t so bad. It was easier to avoid certain people if she holed up in her room. Avoiding certain people was necessary. She did not care to end up in prison convicted of manslaughter.

She tossed her book onto the bathmat. She couldn't even take a bath and forget how annoying Darcy was. He'd accused her of misquoting Alexander Pope last night after dinner. He'd been wrong, but he wouldn't concede until she'd stuck a musty copy of "Bartlett's Familiar Quotations" halfway up his nose.

She took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders, reminding herself that she had dinner alone to look forward to this evening. She could eat with her toes and Darcy would never know. He likely assumed the worst where she was concerned so what did it matter? Elizabeth Bennet, walking etiquette disaster. She wasn't that bad. She had confidence in her intelligence, but he argued with everything she said. She might not be beautiful, but she couldn't be as hideous as he appeared to think she was.

She nudged the drain open with her toe, letting the water slurp out of the bathtub. She liked to stay in until the tub was empty, which Lydia said was weird as hell. But Lizzie liked the way the constantly dropping water line tickled her skin. Getting the better of Darcy last night over that Pope quote had been glorious.

Bing had laughed at his friend last night. "Memory does fail with age, Darce."

Darcy had scowled at the book as if he could intimidate the letters into rearranging to his liking. He seemed to do the same thing to her face--stare so intently that he must be reconstructing her features. She didn't care if he thought she was unsightly. Well, not much.

Caroline had tried to revive the conversation with little success. Darcy had paged grimly through Bartlett's. He was probably plotting some sort of revenge, like maybe a pop quiz on Shakespeare, or John Donne. She'd been relieved when an emergency phone call from London sent him out of the room.

Lizzie went down to dinner, her hair still damp. It was peaceful and maybe just a tad boring. Caroline's chef had left a gorgeous salad and Lizzie added slices of perfectly creamy avocado. It should have been heaven, but in the large open space her chewing sounded abnormally loud. She stared blankly at the complicated sound system panel before switching on her not so great sounding phone. No doubt Darcy would have some kind of hemorrhage if he found out she was polluting the air he breathed with Ke$ha.

__  


She woke on the fourth morning sick unto death of the purple walls in her bedroom. Caroline had informed her the first night that the color was, " _aubergine_ , which is French for eggplant." Lizzie had thanked her effusively for explaining. _En Français._ There'd been dead silence at the dinner table afterward. She must have imagined Darcy softly snorting. He'd never do anything so common. Caroline recovered and started gushing about yachting near Cap D'Ail. She asked Lizzie if she'd ever been to the south of France because the Darcys keep one of their yachts in the Mediterranean. Exactly how many yachts does one person need?

Lizzie refused to spend the day grumbling about Darcy (again.) She got up to stretch. The high temperature was supposed to be 102, but staying inside sounded worse. She wiggled her toes against the lush carpet. It was beige, but the color was probably called _Saharan Sand_ , or _Café Au Lait_ , or _Unidentified Chipmunk Organ the Cat Left on the Back Porch._

Snottily renaming Ralph Lauren's color palette was surely sign that she needed to leave her room. It should be safe so early. The house was quiet. The swimming pool looked cool and friendly. She put on her only bathing suit: a practical black one-piece with unfortunate pilling in the rear. She slathered on sunscreen and skipped brushing her hair. No one would see her pilled bottom or her bedhead.

She yanked on a baggy white t-shirt just in case. There'd been that one sleepy incident in the middle of the night when she'd collided with Darcy in a tangle of warm arms and legs. She thought he'd held onto her a moment longer than he needed to. She'd rushed back to bed without her glass of water. Fun fact: it's impossible to sleep when your skin feels like it's crawling with fire ants.

Lizzie kept her arms tightly at her sides when walking through the house. Each time she left a fingerprint on one of the endless shiny surfaces she felt vaguely guilty. Trying to rub them away made smears that looked even worse. It was easier not to touch anything in the first place.

The tile floor in the kitchen was delightfully cool against her bare feet. There was fresh coffee, but hot anything was a big fat no. Some beautiful genius had stowed bottles of water in the freezer. She nabbed one. The beach towels were in the cupboard by the back door. The yellow ones could be _sunflower_ or _acute hepatitis._

She slipped on her sunglasses and opened the door. Despite the early hour, the heat rushed up her bare legs before she even stepped outside. The pool wasn't far. She'd be cool soon. She cursed herself for not grabbing a pair of flip-flops and hopped her was across the scorching _l'anai_. (Caroline insisted it be called that instead of a porch or a veranda.)

She leaped off the last of the blistering stone and into the grass wondering if she'd burned the prints off her toes. She heard a laugh and looked up. Caroline and Darcy were standing at the far end of the pool. It would look odd if she turned and fled. Weak. She squared her shoulders and sauntered forward.

Caroline gave a friendly wave and called, "Good morning, Lizzie."

Darcy nodded at her briefly. Unbelievable. She didn't even merit a polite greeting. Two hundred years earlier she could have challenge him to a duel for impugning her honor. That is, if she were a gentleman. A cool green field dotted with fog, or maybe sheep. No. They might shoot the sheep. An empty field. They'd wear frock coats. Charlotte would be her second. Bing would be his. They'd each choose a pistol. His shot would go wide and…

She glanced up at Darcy on the other side of the pool. The lead ball would strike him in the shoulder. He would stagger, clutching at his wound, and rue the day… He chose that moment to pull his collared shirt off over his head.

Lizzie walked right smack into the deep end of the pool. One moment she was stepping on solid ground. The next she was plunging through water. She considered staying at the wavery bottom for the rest of her extremely short life, but Darcy would probably jump in to save her. Then she would die of embarrassment anyway.

She pushed off the blue tile and surfaced. Darcy and Caroline were peering down at her with irritation and concern. Since Lizzie did not seem to be actively drowning, Caroline turned back to Darcy and said, "..and that's why we don't go to St. Bart's anymore. It's so passé."

"Lizzie, are you all right?" Darcy's toes curled over the lip of the pool. He had been about to dive in to rescue her.

She nodded and dove back down to retrieve her ruined copy of Dead Souls. It had only cost fifty cents used, but it would dry all wavy and swollen. She found her sunglasses and her water bottle floating near the stairs. Her dignity was a lost cause.

Darcy watched her toss her wet things on the ground by a chaise lounge. She chose one under an umbrella. She didn't need any more freckles. Her wet t-shirt was plastered across her front oh-so-attractively. She lay down and tried to unobtrusively clear out her sinuses. He continued to stare.

Her sunglasses were wet, but she put them on anyway. That turned out to be helpful. Darcy dove into the pool like an Olympic medalist. She couldn't see him properly. Not that she was looking. He happened to be directly in her field of vision. There was no avoiding him.

Darcy surfaced holding the beach towel she'd left in the pool and Lizzie slumped further down in her chair to hide her burning face. He climbed out of the pool, sun glinting off the water drops traversing his gorgeous chest. Gorgeous? Her brain must be completely fried. She looked again. All right. He was attractive. An attractive jerk.

He wrung out Lizzie's towel, which made his arm muscles interesting, if you like that sort of thing. Lizzie didn't. Not one bit. Darcy spread the towel on a chair in the sun a few feet from her. Lizzie tried to open her book, but the wet pages were mushed hopelessly together.

"Lizzie, may I have your shirt?" Darcy held out his hand. Several drops of water from his fingers landed on her thigh. They probably felt the tremors that rocked her in Japan. Darcy repeated his request because she was gawping at him. More drops of water rained down on her. She tracked a drop down his sternum and onto his abdomen and down…

"Lizzie," He said again. "Your shirt, if you please."

"What? Why?" She tugged the hem of her wet shirt almost to her knees.

"Because it's soaking wet and it will dry more quickly if you remove it." He explained it slowly, like: The stove is hot. If you touch it, you'll get burned.

Lizzie fought her way out of the wet cotton and flung it at Darcy. It slapped against his chest and stuck there. If he was waiting for an apology he'd die waiting. She immediately felt guilty for not saying sorry, but she wasn't exactly sure what she'd say if she started speaking. Anything might come out and the word "lick" was poised at the tip of her tongue.

He wrung out the shirt and spread it next to her towel. He was so infuriatingly neat. More than once Lizzie had been tempted to sneak into his room and push half his things mildly askew to vex him.

He walked toward Caroline and the roll of his hips disturbed Lizzie in places Darcy had no business disturbing her. A man who sits in an office all day should not look like that. Lizzie closed her eyes until she heard another splash. Caroline sighed wistfully. Everyone could see her infatuation. Even breakdown-of-the-social-contract William Darcy had noticed. He was very polite to Caroline, which meant he wasn't pure evil through and through.

Caroline wasn't the least bit self-conscious in her nearly non-existent tangerine bikini. There were flirty little ruffles across her cleavage. She'd probably made a Faustian bargain in exchange for her hair. Never a sign of frizz. Always shiny.

Lizzie tugged her fingers through her dripping tangles. It wouldn't have killed her to brush her hair this morning. Darcy swam to the edge of the pool directly in front of her where he rested his chin on his arms. The less said about his shoulders the better. His mouth twitched smugly when he glanced at her. He knew his random acts of torso had made her walk into the pool. It pleased him. Lizzie did not care about pleasing him. Biting him, maybe.

He climbed back up onto the diving board. Lizzie scanned the cloudless blue sky, praying for a freak thunderstorm. Caroline watched him over the edge of her magazine. Lizzie couldn't seem to look away either.

"Do a reverse somersault," Caroline called out.

He sprang forward and bounced off the end before flipping back toward the board. Lizzie cringed, waiting for him to dash his brains out. He didn't. He tucked a neat somersault before slipping head first into the water with nary a splash.

Caroline applauded. In theory Lizzie could understand Caroline's adoration. On paper Darcy was handsome, rich, and intelligent. In person he was a snob who considered the rest of humanity the great unwashed. So why could she still feel the spots where he'd splash water on her thighs like it'd been acid and not just pool water?

"You know, Darcy was the captain of the diving team at Exeter and at Harvard." Caroline made it sound like he'd solved world hunger and cured cancer while inventing cold fusion.

"Uh, how nice."

Lizzie's underwhelming praise probably wasn't what inspired Darcy to climb back up on the diving board. "You should suggest the next one, Elizabeth."

She suppressed a sigh. "I don't know what dives are called. There's a pike?" She'd ask for his head on one if he called her Elizabeth again.

"Yes. There is a pike position, but it's usually designated forward or reverse." He demonstrated what must be forward.

He might be an awkward dancer, but Mr. Darcy was surprisingly limber without his clothes on. Maybe his shirts were a little too small for him. He could just stop wearing them. It was the extreme heat, Lizzie told herself again. It was some kind of heat-induced madness.

Caroline called out other dive combinations and Darcy performed them all. Caroline was delighted by his attention and probably also his obedience. She flipped her hair so often that Lizzie half worried she might injure her neck.

Darcy made one final dive and began to swim laps. Lizzie was nearly dry and the air curled around her like an enormous animal made of lava. The pool was big enough for two. She dove in. He wasn't going at any great speed. She caught up easily. She'd never swum competitively, but that didn’t mean she wasn't good. Team sports? Not her thing.

"Five laps," Lizzie challenged him when they both reached the wall in the shallow end.

"You want to race? Me?" He stood up straight, which put the dark trail of hair down the middle of his abdomen at her eye level.

"Afraid you'll lose, Darcy?"

His shoulders rose toward his ears. "I suspect that it would be an unfair contest. I'm much taller than you are."

"Chicken," Lizzie said. She splashed his chest "accidentally" just to watch his muscles flex. She sank into the water up to her neck to hide the hard points of her nipples. That was an effect of the cold water, but cold water couldn't explain the steady throb in her nether regions, nor the feeling she could only describe as the opposite of being drunk.

"Darcy," Caroline interrupted. "Would you please help me with this sunscreen. I think my back is burning!" Caroline had untied the back of her bikini and was in danger of exposing a lot of real estate. Darcy glanced at her and didn't seem at all surprised, or all that interested.

"Jane is coming this way. Perhaps she can aid you, Caroline." Darcy tipped his head to Lizzie. "Very well, Miss Bennet. Shall we place a wager on it?"

Jane said hello and asked how the water was. She and Darcy both said something in reply, but Lizzie was barely sure what. His eyelashes clumped together in spikes. She fought the urge to run her fingers through his hair to make it stand up in all directions. That might be more satisfying than messing up his room.

"A wager?" she said. "I don't have any money."

"Not money," Darcy said. He leaned toward her, just an inch or two.

"I don’t have anything you want," she said.

"Don't you, Lizzie?" The look he gave her was almost coy.

What a terrible question. Ten answers sprang to mind. Five of them involved her mouth and the other five involved his. She forced herself to stop staring at his lips. Jane was smoothing sunscreen onto Caroline's back. Caroline was watching Darcy sullenly. Darcy leaned another inch toward her and her attention snapped back to him. Were delusions a symptom of heat stroke?

Darcy continued, "If you win, you may ask me for a favor and vice versa."

"Within reason," Lizzie hedged. "I'm not giving you a kidney." The longer she looked at his arms the less certain she was that she could beat him.

"Within reason," he agreed. "No organ donation."

"Jane, will you count down for us?" Lizzie positioned herself against the wall, glad to have an excuse to step back from him.

Her sister wiped excess sunscreen from her hands onto her bare arms. Like Lizzie and Lydia—Jane had two states: vampire pale or burned to a crisp. "Oh, Darcy. Be careful. She cheats."

"Jane!" Lizzie glared. Her sister looked so sweet and innocent in her pink sundress and wide brimmed straw hat.

Jane laughed. "She's a pincher, but if you're willing to risk it…"

"I have thick skin." Darcy grabbed the wall with one hand. He sensed the moment Lizzie reached toward him. He didn't look at her, but said, "I wouldn't try it. I have a much longer reach."

The man possessed a sense of humor. The day got worse and worse.

"Count of three." Jane said. "Three. Two. One. Go!"

They pushed off simultaneously. It would be a catastrophe if he won. Her arms burned. She was out of practice. Darcy touched the far wall first, but Lizzie turned more quickly. She stayed half a length ahead until the third lap. They were neck and neck for the fifth. Darcy touched the wall the barest moment before she did.

"Darcy wins!" Jane applauded and stopped abruptly. "Sorry, Lizzie."

"You were close," he said, out of breath.

"Don't gloat," Lizzie said.

Jane curled up under an umbrella and picked up Caroline's discarded magazine. Lizzie felt like smacking her head against the tile. He could ask her to do almost anything. The wiggly feeling in her gut was dread. It was not anticipation. It could not be.

"What do you want?" It was too much to hope that he'd request an extensive critical examination of his personality.

"I beg your pardon?" They'd drifted too close to each other. Lizzie could see each distinct bristle of his stubble. Some of the hairs were coming in silver, which was adorable. When he breathed out hard she felt it on her forehead. She wasn't going to move back first.

"You won. You get to request a favor." Had he forgotten already? She would do it as quickly as possible whatever it was.

"I shall consider my options and let you know," he said.

"Yes. Do." Lizzie hied it out of the pool. Her towel was still damp, but she wrapped it around herself and fled.


	2. In Which Things Get Messy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy claims his favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Becca read this over for my many errors and encouraged me to snip stupid sentences away. She deserves many cakes.

Half the bedrooms at Netherfield had _en suite_ bathrooms. Lizzie's did not, but the shower across the hall was large enough to put a pool table in. It featured squares in the ceiling that poured water down on you like rain. Regular showers were going to disappoint her for the rest of her life. 

Most of her anxiety washed away with the chlorine and the fancy mint and rosemary shampoo with which Caroline stocked the bathrooms. Lizzie left the bathroom humming tunelessly, which is probably why she didn't hear anyone approaching.

"Lizzie!" Darcy spat the word like someone had jabbed him with a pin. 

Oh, God in heaven. What was he doing here? His room was on the other side of the house. Lizzie flattened herself against the wall and clutched her towel where it was tucked in. The thing was large enough to double as evening gown, but she still felt exposed and was disturbingly aware of her lack of undergarments. 

Darcy was staring inappropriately. Even worse—she liked it. She was downright thrilled. That left her no choice. He would have to die. Swiftly. 

She waited for him to say something or take a breath. He stared longingly at her collarbone until she cleared her throat. 

"Oh. Yes. Right." Darcy collected himself. "I have determined the nature of the favor. But…" 

She'd never heard his voice gravelly and unsteady. She fisted the overlapping section of her towel even more tightly instead. 

His closed his eyes, flushing. He'd finally realized he'd been ogling. "Perhaps this is not the proper time." 

"I'd like to get it over with. What do you want? I'm not detailing your car." She sounded more desperate than detached. 

It was purely physical—this riot of feelings. The intense dislike between them was at the root of it. It threw sparks. It made her consider dropping her towel. Darcy scrunched his eyes closed as if he had a bad case of brain freeze from cold ice cream. 

The light in the hall wasn't strong, but she could see him. More to the point she could feel him and it felt very much like he was about to ravish her against the wall. "Am I supposed to guess?" she asked.

"A kiss," Darcy whispered. She held still and waited for him to do it. He didn’t and she frowned. He stepped back and clarified, "I want you to kiss me."

"What? Why?" The places where her wet hair clung to her neck started to itch. 

"I would think that was self-explanatory," he said carefully. He leaned back against the opposite wall and gestured for her to go right ahead. 

She could not kiss him. He was too tall and she'd have to jump. And putting her mouth on him would be a very bad idea, mostly because it wouldn't end there. That was like saying you'd pour kerosene on a fire to put it out. 

"Are you insane?"

"I am beginning to wonder," he said. 

"Well, I'm not going to kiss you right now. My towel will fall off." 

Darcy's mouth quirked up on one side and he darted a glance down. God help her. She did want to kiss him and then smack him. Was he torturing her for his own amusement? She didn't think so, but she'd been wrong before about this kind of thing. 

"I'm going to get dressed." She turned to open her bedroom door. 

"I didn't think you'd go back on your word," he said. It was thin at best to try to goad her into it. 

"We agreed, 'within reason.'" She slammed the door and dropped into a chair. It must be some sort of head game. He'd called her 'decent enough' not that long ago. Though in the hallway everything about him had something quite different.

If she had to do it, she'd do it her way. She'd make sure he was far more bothered by it than she was. She'd make sure it was something he'd never forget. She hurriedly dressed and sought out Jane. "I need your help. We have to go shopping."

Jane was stirring a pitcher of lemonade. "Excuse me? You want to go shopping?" Jane stared at her with wide eyes, still absently stirring. "For clothing?" 

"No, for multinational corporations. Yes. Clothing. I need your help. Where can I get a good bathing suit?" 

Jane lit up like a sparkler. "Oh! I saw the sweetest pink gingham the other day—" 

Lizzie held up a hand. "No pink. And I'm not going for cute." Lizzie looked around to make sure they were alone and whispered. "I'm aiming for jaw dropping." 

"Oh." Jane didn't blink for a moment and then began to blink rapidly. 

"Will you help me?" Lizzie couldn't afford to stand in the kitchen talking about it any longer. Darcy or Caroline could walk in. Or Bing. It was his house. Where was he anyway? 

"Of course," Jane said. "I'll go get my purse." 

It took two hours and fifteen suits to find the one. The deep red fabric made her skin look creamy instead of bloodless. There wasn't much to it. The sides tied with strips of material like ribbon, which seemed slightly more elegant than mere string. Jane was waiting right outside the curtain. Lizzie pushed it aside, ready to dart back to safety. Jane clapped her hands together and nodded brightly. 

"Thank God," Lizzie said.

\---

 

Lizzie was quiet and distracted at dinner. Caroline announced that she must have a "delicious secret." Lizzie glanced at Darcy who went pink at his collar. He changed the subject.

"The heat should break soon," he said. "It can't go on like this forever."

After dinner Lizzie went to fetch a book from her room. Darcy cornered her in the hall. "Are you well?" he asked. 

"Perfectly fine." Lizzie could get it over with right now. He'd bent slightly forward to make it easier. But she'd suffered shopping and she had a cunning plan. 

"We should have a rematch," she said. 

Darcy straightened, mouth flat with disappointment. "A rematch?" 

"Five laps. Seven AM tomorrow?" 

He nodded reluctantly and let her pass upstairs. There wasn't another chance for them to speak alone that night. Lizzie made sure of it. 

In the morning she got up early to blow dry her hair into a smooth sheet. She applied waterproof mascara and lip-gloss. There seemed to be even less of the bikini today when she put it on. The gloss felt too sticky so she rubbed it off with a tissue. 

She made one last check in the mirror. If someone were going to stumble into the pool today it would not be her. She hurried downstairs and threw open the door before she could turn tail and change into her old boring swimsuit.

Darcy was waiting, shirtless, scrolling through something on his phone. He didn’t look up until the pool was out of her direct path. She'd have to veer hard to the left to fall in. 

As jittery as she was, it was worth it every frayed nerve. He looked up. He dropped his jaw. Then his phone. She heard it crack. Lizzie added a little sway to her walk. She tossed her towel on a lounge chair. 

"I think you broke your phone," she looked pointedly down. 

"Yes," he said absently. His empty fingers were still curled like he was holding it. 

"Five laps?" she asked, the forced innocence too thick. Though he didn't seem to notice. 

"Lizzie, you cannot swim in that." He waved his hand up and down. 

She glanced down. So did he. "It's a bathing suit. It's not going to dissolve." Oh, that was the wrong thing to say. She flushed. 

"It does not look sturdy enough for strenuous exercise," he said, choking on the word strenuous. 

She'd wanted him riled and he truly was. She was in chaos, like a tectonic shift had occurred beneath her stomach. That had not been part of her plan. She would slay, not be slain. 

"Would you like me to change?" She half hoped he'd say yes. 

"No," he said. "You may do so if you wish to. Of course." 

"I do not." She cocked her hips, which distracted him from the slight tremble of her lower lip. He turned and dashed down stairs into the water. She surreptitiously double-checked all the ties on her bikini before following. The water was perfectly pleasant, but it didn't cool her off at all. 

"We don't have anyone to count down," Darcy stopped short at the bottom of the steps and turned. Lizzie was right behind him and stopped short so as not to bang against him. He steadied her with his hands just above her hips. They still weren't at eye level, but she wouldn't have to leap at him. 

Now or never. She brushed her lips across his. He held stock still. Oh, God. Had this been his plan? To make her kiss him and not respond? She pulled back in horror, but he grabbed her arms and pulled her back. 

His kissing was even better than his diving, which could lead to nothing good. He was unexpectedly skillful. Mind-boggling. Lizzie fell against him and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Her attention couldn't settle on any one detail and fluttered from sensation to sensation: the give of his lips, the taste of his mouth like mint and black coffee, all his bare skin against hers and it wasn't enough. She dug her fingers into his shoulders to feel them tense beneath her fingers. There was no going back from a kiss like this. Not that Lizzie had ever experienced a kiss like it before. She worried she never would again. A depressing thought. She nipped his lower lip and spurred him on harder. 

He cradled the back of her head with his left hand, which she thought only happened in movies. He used his other hand to try pull her hips flush with his, but she was already mashed against him. Close as they were, it didn't seem to be enough for him either. The kisses cycled through periods of sweetness that broke into feverish desperation. She relentlessly shoved away any questions about what the hell was happening. 

It was supposed to be a single kiss, but she hadn't expected his mouth to turn her inside out. She'd feared it, but that was different. It would have to end at some point and then what would she do? How could she make sense of a world in which Darcy kissed her like she was the only thing keeping him alive? She stilled a little, but didn't pull away. 

He lifted his mouth from hers, his fingers still threaded into her hair. "Should I stop?" 

She shook her head, unable to wrap her tongue around words. She probably should have told him to stop, but she didn't want to. He was ruddy cheeked, short of breath, like he'd been running. She ran a finger lightly across his reddened lower lip and squeaked when he placed his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her up and walked toward the edge of the pool. She held onto him with her arms and legs and both dreaded and longed for whatever would happen next. 

She made herself forget that she did not like him, that he could be an arrogant ass, and that she'd done this to set him down a peg. That Darcy was someone else. He pressed her back against the smooth tiled wall of the pool. It was cold and she flinch which plastered her against his chest. She'd wrapped her legs around his hips at some point, which left his hands free to wander, but he kept his hands on her waist, almost decorously so. 

She arched her back, which thrust her hips against him harder. He made a low noise, almost nothing. She wanted him to do it again. Louder. She rolled her hips and he dropped his head to her shoulder. "My God, Lizzie. My God." 

 

He kissed his way feverishly down the side of her neck and dipped his tongue into the well of her collarbone. Lizzie wasn't totally inexperienced, but she was usually a little too self-conscious—aware of everything she was doing. Busy considering whether a guy's tongue was too wide or wet. She planned her next moves as if she were choreographing the whole make out. With Darcy, her senses were overloading, but she didn't have to think. Nothing was distant or wrong. Pushing, rubbing, trailing her nails and fingertips, kissing, biting, clutching—it was all shockingly wonderful. She moved by instinct alone. 

He ran his thumb along the edge of the fabric under her breast. Neither of them moved in any other way. They rested their foreheads together. The feathering of his thumb along her rib was the most important thing in the world. It required their absolute concentration. His thumb snuck beneath the fabric and… 

…a phone rang in the kitchen. Lizzie struggled out of his arms though he tried to keep her in place before letter her go. They heard Bing greet someone effusively. Had he seen them? She couldn't bring herself to look at Darcy. 

"OK. We're done here." She waded toward the stairs. Her legs were spongy like marshmallow.

"Wait." It was a command. No matter how magically he kissed, Lizzie was not going to let him order her about. 

She looked over her shoulder. "Why? I did what you asked. Was it unsatisfactory?" 

"Yes." He began retreat into himself. It pained her to see him grow uncomfortable, but it would pain her considerably more to go back to him. Not immediately, but eventually it would. 

"I mean no. The kiss was not unsatisfactory." He turned furiously crimson.

"You seemed to like it well enough." Lizzie should not glance downward at the most obvious expression of his enthusiasm, but she couldn't help it. 

"I did like it. What I meant was… I don't think either of us found that entirely… satisfying." It cost him something to admit that, because he was asking her a question really. 

"You're right. It wasn't, but we can't. You don't even like me, Darcy." 

He actually recoiled. "Where on earth did you get such a notion?" 

"Well, I don't like you." Which wasn’t entirely true anymore. She stepped up to the highest stair at the edge of the pool. She should run, but once she left the pool she could not go back. 

"Are you certain?" He wasn't being coy. He sounded puzzled. 

"I'm not certain of anything right now." She swished her right foot in a circle in the water, which came as high as her ankle. 

She glanced back. He looked rumpled and lost. If only he'd turn smug again so she could walk away and not look back. It would be the easiest thing to go back to him and wipe that unhappiness off his face. And it would be a gigantic mistake. 

"I would prefer that you not regret it," he said. 

"Don't you think you'd regret it?" How could he not? It was stupid to ask because she didn't want to hear him admit it. 

"I find I don't care overmuch if I do. I am feeling decidedly irrational." His usual annoyed expression returned, compressing his mouth. It broke the spell holding her in place. 

She hopped out of the pool, cocooned herself in her towel and ran. She leaped over his broken phone and sped up when she reached the scorching stone path into the house. She hurried by Bing without responding to his chipper good morning. 

She spent the rest of the day lying on her side. She ached as if she'd been carved out. Not like a shell--just murky empty space.

Jane brought her a mug of tea and did not ask questions. She sat with Lizzie until Bing tapped on the door. Jane opened the door a crack and spoke to him in fast whispers. She returned to Lizzie's side and said, "Dinner is in half an hour. If you want I can bring you something on a tray." 

"No. I should go down. I can't spend the rest of my life up here like Miss Havisham." Lizzie's throat was raw as if she'd been sobbing, but she hadn't shed one tear. No doubt she was overreacting. They'd kissed. It had been a mistake. It was no reason to despair. 

"Do you want to tell me about it," Jane asked carefully. 

"No. Maybe I should leave. I can stay with Charlotte."

Jane waited patiently for Lizzie open up. They both knew she had to fill silences. 

"The bathing suit worked a little too well." She shook out her hands. They'd started to cramp from balling them up. "I kissed him. It got a little out of control." Instead of blushing, Lizzie's shivered. Her blood had rushed to her core where she was coldest. Her lips felt numb and rubbery like she'd been given Novocain by a dentist. 

"Lizzie, I know you argue with him a lot. But do you, maybe, like him?" 

"Not in the right way," Lizzie said with her eyes closed. She quickly opened them when she realized it only made her remember him standing in the pool more clearly. "But I have to go down. I can't be a coward." 

Jane picked out a dress for Lizzie to wear and braided her hair. This was going to be awful, but she'd brought it on herself. 

Instead of frowning at her constantly, Darcy neither looked at her, nor spoke. She'd resented his staring and now she missed it. Her caprice annoyed her even more. Was it possible that he'd been mentally undressing her all that time? He could find faults and be attracted to her at the same time. That was how she felt about him. She pushed her food around, but couldn't eat any.

Caroline kept poking and prodding at her, but Lizzie said as little as possible. Darcy wasn't eating either, but he'd drunk three glasses of wine. 

When dinner was done Caroline announced, "We're going to have the pool cleaned tomorrow." She looked over at Lizzie. "It really needs it." 

That lit the fuse and detonated her anger. Anger was good, solid ground and she apparently wasn't alone there. Darcy pushed back from the table so forcefully it moved several inches and made the plates clatter. Caroline shrank from his glare. He strode from the room. The party broke up quickly. Caroline announced a headache and disappeared. 

Bing and Jane disappeared for a walk. They wanted to be alone to moon over each other. How lovely that must be. Lizzie longed for uncomplicated, sweet affection. She didn't need kisses that tore her to pieces. Though, in all honesty, she suspected that someone perfectly sweet would send her screaming after five minutes. Maybe she did want to be ripped up and lit on fire, but she wanted to be wanted because of who she was and not despite her faults. 

Lizzie ducked into the empty kitchen to pour herself another glass of red wine. She took deep, hasty gulps—almost choking when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. They were too heavy to be Caroline's. Jane and Bing were still outside. She waited until he was in the front hall and dashed around through the dining room. She'd be able to fly up the stairs as soon as he passed into the kitchen. She darted around the corner and leaped for the stairs, but he hadn't gone into the kitchen. 

He stood there with his arms folded and she wondered how on earth they'd kissed passionately earlier. He looked capable of dispensing perfectly square ice cubes. 

"There are matters we should discuss," he said. 

"There is nothing we need to discuss," she said, but he looked implacable. She sighed. "Fine." 

He ushered her into the library and closed the door. It slammed and they both jumped.

"I owe you an apology," he said. "I regret that I lost my composure so utterly. It was entirely inappropriate."

"I knew you would regret it," she said. She wrapped her arms around herself. Why did Caroline have to keep the house cold enough to store bodies? 

He said nothing. He wanted to. He shifted uncomfortably, but he couldn’t get out whatever he was thinking. He stood stiffly with his arms rigid at his sides. 

"This is a pointless discussion." Lizzie raised her chin. "It meant little to either of us. We should have no trouble forgetting it happened." 

His chin drew back into his neck like a turtle's. She desperately wanted to ask why he'd done any of it, but the answer was plain. She'd been an available warm body. In the last day she'd been anxious and angry, but she hadn't been ashamed. 

Still he said nothing. Didn't move. Didn't even blink.

"It was probably the excessive heat. It's cooled considerably this evening," she said. His chin ducked farther back than ever.

She needed to get out of the room before her composure cracked and she started throwing things at him. "So we are in agreement and can reside under the same roof with some semblance of civility?" 

He nodded once. She swept out of the room channeling Elizabeth I in high dudgeon. She wouldn't stoop to poisoning his clothing, but the idea held a certain appeal. 

They kept clear of each other as much as possible. The rest of Lizzie's stay at Netherfield was punctuated by heated arguments, which erupted with increasing frequency. Caroline euphemistically referred to them as intellectual debates. No one else did. Lizzie did not swim or go anywhere near the pool. Darcy did and she forced herself not to watch him cleaving through the water in the mornings. The one time she did look up he had his arms braced against the side of the pool where they'd kissed. His head was bowed and his chest heaving from his swim. That was when the tears came.


	3. Two Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another time, another place, another pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More cakes for Becca. All the cakes.

William could not abide an unpacked suitcase, but he was also fussy about how clothes were organized and put away. As a result he normally unpacked their clothing as soon as they arrived anywhere. He preferred to do it himself so that his clothes were not only neat, but in the correct order. He had color-coded hangers. 

They'd arrived in Buenos Aires and driven to his house. Darcy had their luggage carried up to their room where he left it untouched. He grabbed Lizzie by the hand and took her on a tour of the sun filled house. He'd looked exhausted and drawn for the last eight weeks, but he was as bright-eyed as a child on Christmas morning showing her around the house: the nooks for reading, the complicated stereo system, and the view. 

"I'm so happy you're here with me." He gathered her close and dropped a kiss on top of her head. 

She tilted her face up for him to continue his attentions, but his phone rang. He frowned at it. "I'm sorry. It's Fitz. I told him not to call unless it's an emergency. Would you mind unpacking?"

He answered the call without waiting for her response. He strode to the edge of the terrace overlooking the rippling, silver Rio de la Plata. She heard him telling Fitz that this was the last call he'd answer for the next eight days unless Pemberley was actively ablaze. It was the first vacation he'd taken in a year and the first time he'd brought Lizzie to Buenos Aires. The least she could do was unpack. It would make him happy. She'd make an effort to use the proper hangers. Shirts on light wood. Pants on dark wood. She was surprised that there were even satin covered hangers for her dresses when she stepped into the closet. They looked new and of course he'd think of it. His small, thoughtful gesture reduced her to dopey smiles. The warm tile floor felt especially welcome after the bitterly cold, damp summer they'd fled at home. Mark Twain had not been exaggerating when he said, "The coldest winter I ever spent, was summer in San Francisco." 

She tucked everything away in the enormous closet. At the bottom of the suitcase she found something red tucked under her underwear. As soon as her fingers brushed the material she recognized it. She'd buried that ill-fated bikini in a box of old clothes. She couldn't bring herself to get rid of it. There was no way she could have packed it by accident. She dropped it back into the suitcase. 

Her scalp prickled as memories rose up. She knelt down, but couldn't quite bring herself to pick the suit up again. That very first kiss? It hadn't counted. There'd been other, better kisses. Less emotionally torn kisses. But that kiss had been unforgettable. The memory of it no longer stung because he had never regretted kissing her that first time. In retrospect she couldn't regret it either, but it wasn't a comfortable memory. 

Did he want her to wear it? Perhaps they were they going to ritually burn it. She picked it up and a scrap of paper drifted to the floor. It read: Meet me by the pool. 4 PM. -WD

She checked her phone. That would give her enough time to shower and check her email, though she should disconnect from work too. It felt wonderful to wash the airplane from her hair and skin. At five minutes before the hour, she checked her hair one final time. The suit still looked spectacular on her, but her fingers fumbled over the ties, straightening them. She hadn't felt this nervous about her appearance since the first time she'd taken off all her clothes in front of him. 

She padded barefoot through the big, airy house, each step giving her more confidence. She walked through big patches of sunlight and narrow shadows. There were so many windows. It gave everything a floating, weightless quality. She paused at the top of the stairs, dizzy with nerves. 

If he dropped his phone again this time she might not be able to hold in her laughter.

Wearing almost nothing to seduce someone you adore and are adored by is quite different than traipsing about in scraps of material to revenge-seduce a person you're not sure you can stand. For a start it's much more pleasant. She had no reason to feel so nervous. She held tight to the bannister the whole was down though. 

When she reached the pool she became paralyzed by déjà vu. He stood at the far end of the pool dressed in a navy polo shirt and forest green swim trunks. His smiles came so easily and so often that he was getting laugh lines. He wasn't holding a phone, only waiting with his hands in his pockets. The look he swept her with almost made her stumble into the pool. She steadied herself. They were grinning at each other like dorks. 

He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. Lizzie gave herself an extra second moving, carefully along the edge of the pool. When she reached him their smiles vanished. She waited for him to say something. 

He reached out and gently plucked the ribbon that tied behind her neck. His voice was soft. "Thank you." 

Lizzie nodded although she wasn't completely certain what he was thankful for. 

"Are you going to challenge me to a race?" 

"Perhaps later," he said. He closed his eyes, but she could see them moving beneath his lids. He was thinking something over, something he wanted to ask her and was having trouble getting out. 

She brushed her fingers along his jaw and tilted his face up. She tried to look encouraging and it must have worked. He pressed a kiss into the palm of her hand. 

"I'm wondering if you might humor a whim of mine," he said. 

"I usually do, don't I?" 

He nodded and glanced out over the river for a moment before returning her steady gaze. "The last time you wore this we were regrettably interrupted and I have been unable to cease wishing that we hadn't been. I do think in the long run it proved efficacious and I wouldn't have it otherwise. But…"

"But?" She didn’t need him to explain, but she wanted him to. He still blushed slightly when expressing his desires. It wasn't because he was at all ashamed, or really even all that shy. But when he completely dropped his guard his face was so legible he'd lose his entire fortune at poker in one hand and he knew it. 

"I haven't been able to forget it. When I thought it was hopeless and you'd never return my feelings, I tried to inure myself, remembering how you looked that day at Netherfield, how you walked, how you tasted, how your skin felt under water. I thought perhaps I could inoculate myself."

"Did it work?" 

The left side of his mouth kicked up, dimpling his cheek. "To eradicate you from my mind and body? No. It did rather the opposite." He threaded his fingers through hers and led her to the stairs into the pool. 

He lifted her against him and Lizzie clutched his sun-warmed shoulders. He strode over and pressed her back against the tiled edge of the pool. Oddly, it didn't give her déjà vu. It felt completely different this time because she knew him and loved him. 

This was his fantasy—the one he'd been holding back from her. On that front he was still sometimes reticent. Oh, he told her things he'd thought about that day, or while away on a business trip. But he'd never said much about what he'd thought all those months after Netherfield, or after Collins and Collins. She'd asked once or twice, but he'd been vague and distracted her.

She let him lead. If he wanted her to do something he'd tell her. He was watching his thumb skirt oh so slowly under the edge of the red fabric. How many times had he played this out in his mind? Imagining what would have happened if that phone hadn't rung. 

His eyes became hot and unfocussed. He saw her. He was watching her, but he was also somehow watching for a distance. She tried to remain pliant in his arms but it was killing her not to speed things up. The thought of him alone and hopelessly drowning himself in memories of what he couldn't have—well, how could she not let him have this?  
He continued to stroke his finger tips along the edge of her top until she thought she might spontaneously combust.

It occurred to her he probably hadn't imagined her completely passive like a doll in his arms. She kissed her way to his ear and whispered, "Tell me what happens. Tell me everything."

He showed her more often than told—his phrases were broken and sometimes trailed off into kisses or gasps. He leaned back so he could look at her when he drew the bows behind her neck and back slowly open. Once the fabric slipped down and floated in the water he threw off all restraint.

She was so lost in sensation and in watching his reactions that she wasn't quite in her own body and it startled her when he cupped her face and roughly asked, "Did you ever think of this? Did you imagine what could have happened?" 

"Yes," she said. "Not often, but sometimes. It was impossible to remember and not feel conflicted." 

"Before you knew I loved you?" He untied the right bow at her hip. She nodded. "And after?" She nodded again. He undid the left bow. 

"Tell me," he said and ran his hands up her bare back and back down her front between her breasts. Teasing her. 

"I tried not to think about it, but once in a while I couldn't stop myself from wondering." She pulled him into a kiss, a series of kisses strung together with words. She told him everything. How he touched her. How he kissed her. How she bit his neck, which she did. How she pushed his trunks off of him with her toes so she didn't have to let go of his shoulders, which she did. How he thrust into her, her weight seated on him, pushing him deep inside her. Which he did. How they rolled against each other sometimes slowly and other times frantically. In even more broken-up phrases and words that sometimes trailed off mid syllable—she told him how she'd pleasured herself into searing finishes that left her wanting more than satisfied.

He nodded because he knew exactly how that felt and he stilled and looked comically alarmed. "Oh, God. Lizzie, tell me this is real."

He was too anguished for her to tease. "It's very real." She rocked against him to make her point, but it didn't completely drive the wariness out of his eyes. She bit his shoulder, more than a nip. Enough to leave teeth marks.

The bleakness fled, but he still looked uncertain. She braced herself against the wall to push against him harder. She didn't think either of them were very far from the edge. She contracted her inner muscles and he trembled. "We can do it again. As many times as you like. You don't have to make it last forever this time." 

"No. That's not it." He groaned when she raised herself slightly using the side of the side of the pool and let her weight bring her back down. "When I thought about this, us like this—I… um… never reached completion." 

It was Lizzie's turn to freeze. "You mean you kept thinking about it and you didn't…" She glanced down to where they were joined. 

"No, no. In reality, I did. In my imaginings I couldn't reach the end. I never lasted that long and truth be told—I didn't want to end it. Until now." He wrapped his arms around pinning her that way instead of against the side of the pool, which was slightly rough. 

"Go on, then." She kissed him and there was no more talking after that thought they weren’t remotely silent. They clung to each other for a long while after. 

"You know I've been practicing," Lizzie said. She almost laughed at the stunned look on his face. "Swimming laps. We should race again. I might be able to beat you now." 

"Maybe," he said. He set her on her feet, but kept his arms around her. "Tomorrow. We're not done yet." 

"We're not?" Lizzie leaned into him. Now she could tease him. "But we both—" 

"That's not the only thing I ever dreamed about." He pulled her from the pool, ignoring her protests about running through the house naked. "No one else is here." He kissed her until she didn't care that she was naked in the living room. "There's the shower, and several spots in the bedroom, and the study, and the kitchen." 

"The kitchen?" Lizzie laughed. 

"Oh, the kitchen. I have plans for the kitchen. We should start there." He wasn't joking. 

Lizzie showered again before dinner, though not alone. It would likely be years before she could enter the kitchen in this house without blushing and she'd never be able to look at a can of whipped cream innocently again.


End file.
